CW/TW: a situation of dubious consent, lady POV. Aftermath of past torture, discussion of same (pretty much rubs the gamut). Magical healing and consequences.
Cien kissed the back of my neck, his hands light on my shoulders. I tried to stop the shudders coursing through me, and failed. He moved his hands down my arms, and my knees buckled. He held me tight, easing me into a sitting position.
He started to undo the braid coiled at my neck, slowed by his broken hand.
“I’ve promised not to hurt you.”
He rubbed my shoulders for a few minutes, then sat in front of me. He lifted my chin, and kissed me. Quick, light kisses, his hand caressing my face before drifting down to my throat. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, which moved lower, fumbling at my bodice laces. I drew back, shuddering, and he moved away slightly. His sleeve fell back, revealing white scars slashed across pale skin.
I took his wrist in my hand. “Show me.”
“No. Oh, no.” He tugged at his sleeve with his other hand.
“Yes. Let me see.” He flinched as I moved my hand up his arm, revealing more scars. “What you’re requiring of me… you can show me this.”
“Y-yes, but….” He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
He shrugged out of his shirt. Scars cut across both arms, front and back, width and length. Short and long, shallow and deep, layered over each other. Not just the arms, but his torso as well, across his chest and back. Whip welts, burn marks. The almost invisible scalpel cuts, the delicate tracery of precise violence. When I touched them with my fingertips, he shuddered.
“I don’t understand. You can heal these. Surely, even then.”
“Yes.” He caught my hand by the wrist. “Don’t.”
“All right.” I rubbed my wrist when he let it go, rested my hands in my lap.
He closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall. “I healed it all at first. Whenever they stopped. During the dark times. It amused them. It made them creative. Cutting deeper, longer. Bleeding me white. Broken ribs, punctured lungs. A burning poker once…. “
A deep breath. “They brought me close to death many times, and I got weaker every time. Couldn’t repair everything, or anything at times. Once or twice I think the Guildmaster intervened to keep me alive. I learned they liked to see the scars and wounds, the results of their handiwork. If I left it alone, somehow it went a little easier.”
“Your hand came after.” He started when I took it. I knew he used it; I’d rarely examined it. Some fingers bent wrong, others not at all. The palm twisted against itself. “You wouldn’t allow me to heal it.”
“Keldan would break it again.”
“Why leave it-yourself-like this?”
“Sometimes I need the pain. I’m used to the scars.”
I shifted away, and he put his arms around me, drew me close. Gently, but I shuddered again, unable to control my reaction.
“I know. You won’t break our agreement.” He said, “I’m asking you to stay.”
“What I want... I can’t have, can I? This is the closest I can get.” He let go of me.
